TRICK OR TREAT
by Bellegeste
Summary: Draco, Luna and Hermione spend their Detention brewing up a hilariously wicked revenge against Snape for making them miss the Hallowe'en feast... A Hallowe'en Challenge story.


**Author's note: This is not part of my _Lost Perspective_ series as such, though I have kept the characters consistent. The time-frame, however, overlaps. It is my response to _Panic Parables' 'Hallowe'en Challenge'_. (Full details on the PP website.) We had to complete a string of quizzes and questions and then incorporate our answers into a story in which a Detention is awarded, takes place and leads to unexpected consequences - two 500 word parts and then a longer one. If you think the first part is a little odd, I had to base it on these three slogans:**

**1. How many licks does it take to get to the centre of a Draco?**

**2. We're with the Luna.**

**3. It takes a Hermione, but it keeps on tickin'.**

**No pairings, no slash; takes place at Hallowe'en in Harry's 6th Year. **

**Disclaimer: The characters in this story are the property of JKR. No copyright infringement is intended.**

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Panic Parables' Hallowe'en Challenge

**TRICK OR TREAT**

**By Bellegeste**

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**Part 1 : Pre-Detention**

"You ate one?" asked Luna, puzzled. "Why? _Why_ would you do that?"

"You said they were for 'Trick or Treating' – what was I supposed to do? What do people normally do with sweets?" Draco moaned, clutching his stomach.

"Yes, with _sweets_. But those were Celestite crystals," Luna pointed out, reasonably.

"Oh, do stop arguing and hurry up, Luna," muttered Hermione impatiently, looking at her watch. We haven't got time for this. We're late enough for the Hallowe'en Feast as it is. They'll be sending out search parties soon. Just undo the Charm, or whatever it was, and then buzz off . Knowing our luck, Snape'll turn up any second."

"I really don't see why I should. I told Malfoy the crystals were brittle - it's not my fault if he's silly enough to pinch one and then swallow it."

"I thought she meant they had nuts in! Ohhh, ohhh! Do something, Lovegood," groaned Draco, doubling up with pain. His face had blotchy, grey sheen, and sweat was breaking out on his brow. "You've poisoned me!"

"The clock's ticking..." said Hermione, pointedly.

"But they're spelled with _Celestio Afflatus_..." said Luna, rubbing her nose thoughtfully. "It increases their astral potency. I was going to hand them out - I thought if we all had one in our pocket, it would open up the channels of spiritual communication, and show that we are, sort of, receptive - a bit like landing-lights on a runway. Swallowing one was a pretty duff idea, you know; they're not supposed to get hot - I'd calibrated them to their optimum vibrational level..."

"I don't bloody care! Just cancel the friggin' spell! Can't you see I'm in agony here?" gasped Draco.

"Luna, that is just _so_ irresponsible!" sniffed Hermione.

But she could appreciate the problem. The _Afflatus_ spell had to be _breathed_ into the object with an Inspirational Breath, and the only way to remove it was to...

"Suck it out?!!!" shrieked Draco, "Over my dead body!"

"If you like," murmured Luna, turning to go.

"I'm with Luna on this one," said Hermione seriously. "You've got to have the spell removed otherwise, come midnight, the spirits'll think there's a _Portal_ in your stomach... You'd better lie down."

"The hell I will!"

An unspoken signal passed between the two girls and together they grappled Draco to the floor.

"When did you eat it, Draco?" asked Hermione, solicitously. "About three hours ago?" She gave Luna a meaningful look. "It won't be in his stomach any more, Luna."

The Ravenclaw was unperturbed.

"OK then," she nodded, and began to unfasten Draco's waistband...

"What the fuck are you doing? Get off me, you freak!" screamed Draco, thrashing. Hermione pinned him down. Luna, straddling his legs to stop him kicking, explained, mildly,

"I have to get my head as close as possible to the position of the crystal - it'll be in your colon by now - and then with any luck I can do _Exhalio_, and suck the spell out. You'll have to wait for the crystal to come out by itself, if you get what I mean... Try eating more fibre!"

"Oh Merlin!" whimpered Malfoy. "If you dare _lick_ my middle, Lovegood, you're dead!"

"Hurry up!" hissed Hermione.

Luna bent her head down towards Draco's exposed midriff, to the right of his navel, her lips hovering over the quivering skin...

"**WHAT IS GOING ON HERE**? What _depravity_ is this?" Snape's voice, razor-sharp with shock and outrage. "Get up at once!" He glowered at the three mortified students. "Follow me - all three of you."

"But we were on our way to the Feast," Hermione objected.

"By a lewdly circuitous route, it seems! Well, now you are on your way to Detention!"

X X X

**Part 2 : The Detention**

"Punishment," snarled Snape with malicious enjoyment, "should fit the crime. Don't you agree, Mr Malfoy?"

Draco gulped and stuttered incoherently,

"But, Sir, I wasn't - "

"We were only - "

"Enough! I am not interested in your feeble, self-justificatory excuses!" Snape glared down at them from the uncompromising heights of moral rectitude. He held out his hand.

"Your wands," he demanded icily.

"But, Sir - "

"Your wands! And empty your pockets. NOW!"

Hermione promptly presented him with a neatly folded handkerchief, two Sickles and a miniaturised copy of '_What's my Spell?_'. Grudgingly Draco offered up a twist of itching powder and a squashed bag of _Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans_. Luna, with a shrug of resignation, dragged out of the deepest folds of her cloak a scraggy, object that looked horribly like a dead, black cat, but which turned out to be a furry draw-string purse.

"I'll take that!" Snape almost snatched it from her, peering inside with distaste. He looked at her sharply, his eyes addled with suspicion. "Is Professor Trelawney aware that you are in possession of these – _crystals_?" He spat his contempt for Divination and all forms of alternative magic.

"_I'm_ not now, _you_ are," Luna pointed out, infuriatingly calm.

Snape scowled at her.

"Miss Granger!" He addressed Hermione, irked by Luna's imperturbable logic. "The time-keeper of the trio. Approach the silver cauldron. The potion contained therein requires _meticulous_ attention for the next three hours. Stir it every seventeen minutes, alternating clockwise and counter-clockwise stirs and increasing the number of stirs by three on each occasion. Every ninth minute you will add one drop from that flask. Is that clear?"

_Three hours!_ Hermione picked up the spoon, already making calculations.

"Miss Lovegood!" Snape's face warped into a vindictive sneer as he held out two long straws. "Do you prefer to _blow_ or _suck_?"

"Blow." Luna was blandly unshockable.

"Choose the short one," murmured Malfoy, _sotto voce_.

"Very well. Then, Mr Malfoy, you will suck. In that bucket, you will find thirteen _Bufo Atramentus_ – Nib-Horned Ink Toads. Use the straws. Blowing into their nostrils, Miss Lovegood, will soothe them, while you, Malfoy, insert the tube into the ink sac and suck out the dye. Its indelible properties are valuable, despite its toxicity." He let this grim information sink in before adding, "It is, I am obliged to inform you, neutralised on contact with saliva. Proceed. I shall be observing you."

Draco gingerly lifted the lid of the bucket and recoiled in disgust at the stench .

"This is all your fault, Lovegood!" he hissed.

"That's not true. You already had a pocketful of _Every Flavour Beans_ – why did you have to eat my crystal? Did you think it was 'rock' flavour?"

"Crystal! I wish you'd shut up about those crystals. You're obsessed, totally obsessed - what's so special about them anyway?"

"You'll see."

"Shut up, you two, I'm losing count," said Hermione, frowning with concentration.

"Totally obsessed," Draco continued to mutter under his breath, as he edged his straw towards a pungent toad. "Ugh!" Stalling, he whispered to Hermione.

"Psst! What's in the potion?"

"Whatever it is, it's not Pumpkin Juice," she replied irritably.

"SILENCE!" Snape barked.

X X X

**_(At the risk of sounding sentimental, I'd like to dedicate this part of the story to my cat, Danny, who died while I was writing this on Monday 18th October 2004, the day before his 19th birthday. I know it sounds corny, but he really was my best friend.)_**

**Part 3 : Post-Detention**

Hermione stirred, counted, stirred, checked her watch, added another leg to her five-bar-gate tally, stirred and, exactly forty two seconds later, carefully squeezed out another brown drop from the flask. The potion rippled with pleasure as the fluids combined, dispersing into one another in cloudy swirls.

"_Defervesco_!" She soothed the flames beneath the cauldron, lulling the heat to a gentle snooze, to keep the contents warm but not bubbling. 'On no account must you allow the potion to boil,' Snape had instructed her. Just one more thing to remember.

"Hurry up, Draco. We've only got two left, then we can go!" Luna, not normally impatient, had had quite enough of blowing up toads' nostrils. "We'll be in time for the end of the feast if we're quick."

Draco was morosely sucking his finger, where a splatter of greasy ink had raised a rash of itchy, olive-green and black warty bumps on the skin. He scowled at Luna in irritation.

"If you know what's good for you, Ravenclaw, you'll shut your stupid face and keep blowing, OK? You haven't heard the last of this. And, by the way, it's 'Malfoy' to you."

"No talking!" Snape's quill froze as he detected the whispers of discontent. "If you have time for conversation, can I safely assume that you have completed your allocated task? NO? Then get on with it!" Without even looking up from his marking, the Potions master managed to chill them into silence.

Hermione stirred. Luna blew. Draco sucked, gagged, spluttered, coughed and seethed with resentment.

Another half hour passed then, behind them, the dungeon door ground open with a gritty, scraping, nail-on-blackboard creak, and Professor Lupin's tousled head appeared. He took in the scene with a sympathetic grin,

"Detention, eh? Missing the feast too? My, you must have excelled yourselves this time! I was looking for Severus - ah, there you are!" Lupin padded to the front of the classroom and lowered his voice. "I dropped round to see if the, er, 'you-know-what' is ready."

Snape laid down his quill with a sigh of annoyance. He had only a couple more paragraphs to go, and then he'd be finished. Trust the blasted werewolf to disturb him; these creatures had no concept of self-restraint.

"Hmm? Oh, yes, Miss Granger has been giving it her undivided attention for the last hour or so. Take it now, if you must. I'll be along in a minute."

"Excellent! Knew we could rely on you to keep it safe. They'd never dare sample it down here." Lupin turned towards Hermione, smiling broadly, and ambled across the room. "The house elves, you know," he explained confidentially, with a meaningful wink. "Last year they all had a taste, and by the time they brought it up to the Masters' Table there was almost none left for us. Disgraceful! Not that I begrudge them their share, you understand," he added quickly, seeing SPEW principles gathering Hermione's brow into a frown.

He peered into the silver cauldron and inhaled deeply, ecstatically.

"Aaaah..."

"You shouldn't do that, Sir," Hermione corrected him. "We're always being told not to breathe in potion fumes. And you can't take it now. I've still got another fifty-three minutes of stirring to go...Haven't I, Professor?"

She confidently addressed Snape, who had by now cleared his desk and was locking the marked essays in a drawer.

"Potion?" Lupin gave a hearty guffaw. "What have you been telling her, Snape? No stirring required, young lady! This is Snape's 'special recipe' punch for the Masters' feast. Hits the spot, I can tell you. But tomorrow morning when you wake up, you'll feel as fresh as a dew-drop. It's fantastic!"

"Merely the judicious addition of _Painless Potion_ and a combination of herbal accelerants which intensify the initial intoxicant effect, and also promote their harmless absorption into the system..."

Snape had glided over to join them, smoothly supercilious. Hermione listened in mounting fury as every glib word reinforced the awful realisation that the past two hours had been a complete waste of time.

"But Sir!" she protested, unable to contain her outrage, "Do you mean to say that you've had me here stirring some... some 'punch' for the party? All that counting and counter-stirring! I've been _so_ careful - I haven't made a single mistake - not one! - I've had to concentrate really hard! And now you say that it didn't need doing at all? That it's been some kind of a _joke_? That's so unfair!"

Injustice incensed Hermione, as did time-wasting. The deliberate combination of the two left her fuming with indignation. The sight of Snape smirking, evidently pleased with himself, did not improve her temper. He took a step nearer, so that she began to feel physically intimidated by his presence.

"I shall set Detention as I see fit," he said curtly. " 'Fairness' in these circumstances is inconsequential. You have received a lesson in the art of time management. When you are next tempted to act as the time-keeping lookout while your friends engage in debauched acts of moral depravity, you may recall this experience and reconsider."

Lupin was staring at the three students agog, bristling with curiosity.

"In any case," continued Snape, "it kept you employed while your associates in perversion had the chance to practise their licentious techniques, with the beneficial corollary of ink-extraction."

"Huh?" Draco had only followed about half of that exchange, but he'd spotted the reference to ink. "Bet he could have done it with a wand without any sucking," he grumbled under his breath through stained, nut-brown lips.

"I don't know what these miscreants have done, but I think we've all learned our lesson." Lupin acted the peace-maker. "How about we call it a day, and get up to the feast before the Cauldron Cakes run out? Snape?"

Ignoring Hermione's warning, "Watch it! It's hot!", Lupin wrapped a leathery hand round the cauldron handle and lifted it off the flames. Then his cheery expression drained to one of consternation.

"Rationing us, are you, Severus? This cauldron's only half full! That's barely a goblet each. What's the big idea?"

They all gathered round, but it was Hermione who offered an explanation.

"It's bound to have reduced - I've been keeping it warm for the last **two hours**," she said pointedly aggrieved. "It'll be jolly concentrated though!"

Lupin did not look convinced. He was in the mood for immoderate quaffing, not genteel sipping.

"Couldn't you rustle us up another batch, Snape?"

"Don't push your luck, Lupin. I spend enough time as it is, preparing potions for your benefit. I have no intention of devoting any more of my evening pandering to your self-indulgent whims." He strode towards the door, then paused, reconsidering. "I shall not, but - " he nodded dismissively towards the guilty trio, "_they_ will."

A slim, potion spattered book materialised in his hand. He passed it to Hermione, saying:

"Page 44, _Painless Party Punch_. Use the basic recipe and then add my modifications as detailed in the margin notes. No supplementary stirring is required. I shall be back shortly. And, Miss Granger - " he looked her straight in the eye, "– students at this school labour under the misapprehension that I possess no sense of humour. You are now in the unique position of being able to tell them that they are wrong!"

He and Lupin left together, carrying the silver cauldron between them. They were scarcely in the corridor before a roar of laughter erupted from Lupin.

X X X

Hermione, Draco and Luna exchanged glances.

"What the fuck was all that about?" Queasy from the pond-slime after-taste of the ink, his stomach still cramping from the crystal, Draco was hardly at his most tolerant. The prospect of brewing up a vat of booze nauseated him still further.

"That, I think, was Professor Snape in a_ **good**_ mood," said Luna, sagely. "Right. Let's make this punch asap, then we can go. What do we need? Hermione? What's the stuff in the flask?"

Hermione was flicking through the book. She answered distractedly,

"Er, I thought it was a secret ingredient, but it's just a combination of extracts of cinnamon, vanilla, cloves and miso. A few drops of that, one way or the other wouldn't make any difference. What a swine!"

She turned her attention back to the recipes.

"There's a whole chapter on Hallowe'en. _'Wizard's Wallop'_, _'Merlin's Mead'_, '_Sparkling Squash Sunrise'_ - now that sounds nice. And how about these - 'Tricksy Tipples to get you in the party spirit' : '_Beetlejuice_'? Ugh, I don't think so!"

"Let me see." Draco grabbed the book. "I've got an idea." He skimmed through the pages, stopping now and again, occasionally leafing back and comparing one dastardly set of instructions with another, and finally settling on a recipe. He tapped it with his inky finger, and shot them an evil grin.

"What about this one for 'Pumpkin Punch'?"

"Boring! We get that all the time. Ron's Mum makes it by the gallon."

"Ah, but this trick recipe turns you into a life-size pumpkin for up to 12 hours! No? Alright, this one then! Our dear Potions master thinks he has a sense of humour, does he? I'll _humour_ him! I think he deserves it, don't you? Listen: it's in the 'Trick or Treat' section_. 'The '**Bellegeste Jester'** - do you ever wish you could be the life and soul of the party? Just a few drops added to your punch will ensure your party's a rip-roaring success. Enjoy! Repartee till dawn (if you don't die laughing first!)'." _

X X X

"This is going to get us into even more trouble. What if he finds out? It won't just be Detention next time - he could suspend us from our NEWTs class...And how's it going to work? We can't 'potion' all the staff." Hermione, methodically measuring out the quantities for the _Party Punch_, kept up a running commentary of objections, while the other two rummaged in the stock cupboard.

"Put a Muggle sock in it, Granger!" Malfoy shouted back. "You don't think he should get away with what he did to you just now? Anyway, who cares how it works - it's Hallowe'en, isn't it? Magical things happen. That's the beauty of that recipe - it may be a Trick, or it could be a real Treat! We can't guess the jest!"

"Oh, no more puns, please!" groaned Hermione. "All that 'repartee' business was excruciating enough. That book wasn't written by a Weasley was it, by any chance?"

Luna appeared carrying a handful of dusty phials and bottles. She lined them up in order on the desk according to the recipe.

"Now then, I think I've got almost everything: powdered funny-bone of a Serengeti hyena, crocodile tears, cuckoo spit and bottled moonshine, and extract of 'thick skin' to act as a binding agent. Now all we need are these last three ingredients: 5 parts of success, 5 parts of ambition, one part joy, and then we add sadness to taste. Serve in a glass tumbler with a salted rim. No problem!"

There was a mystic quality to Luna's unquestioning acceptance of the absurd that inspired confidence. Despite her better judgement, Hermione found herself listening to Luna's kooky suggestions as though they made some sense. The Ravenclaw was staring at them both in a way that was both penetrating and dreamy at the same time. It was most odd. As she pushed back a straggle of limp, blond hair, Hermione noticed her miniature pumpkin-lantern ear-rings, flashing intermittently, bulging from the girl's neck like distended, orange goitres.

"You've got your Student Journal in your bag, Hermione?" It was more a statement than a question. Without demur, Hermione handed it over and watched, astounded, as Luna turned unerringly to the hidden pocket in the back cover. Had she known, or was it a lucky guess? Luna extracted a sheet of folded parchment: a copy of Hermione's OWLs Certificate, in all its outstanding, successful glory. Hermione squirmed as her vanity was exposed.

"Is it OK to snip a bit off the bottom? Not the writing, or the signatures or anything, just the blank bit there. This'll do for '_success_' - can't get more successful than straight O's. Have you got _your_ certificate, Malfoy? Did _you_ get O's?" she asked, seemingly innocent, but then with Luna you never could tell.

"Shut it, Lovegood!" he warned.

"What about the 'ambition'?" asked Hermione, anxious to move on, mentally calculating how long it would take Snape to walk to the Great Hall and back, assuming he was not delayed. They didn't have much time.

"Can't you _see_ it?" Luna replied in amazement, ducking her head towards Malfoy. "It's there, all around him. Positively swathed in it, he is. Ambition, self-interest, ruthlessness - there, where the purpley layer merges with the bluey-green. Isn't it obvious? In his aura?"

Draco, who had, admittedly, been feeling increasingly green-about-the-gills, didn't like the tenor of this conversation. He thought he'd been remarkably stalwart so far, but this chipper kid was seeing straight through him. Now, as Luna came towards him, her hands open wide, cupping thin air, he groaned and flinched away.

"Touch me and you're dead, squirt!"

"No need to touch you. I can harvest your auric energy like this!" she exclaimed, scooping an invisible beach ball from above his head and compressing it, in a series of gentle patting motions, into a dense nugget of pure ambition. Hermione looked on, speechless with scepticism, but unable to offer an alternative. Luna was now studying them both again, but this time less happily.

"Not much _joy_ around you two; nor me, either," she commented.

"What the hell do you expect? We've just done two hours' Detention, we're hungry, we're missing the best party of the term, and, thanks to you and your sodding, super-charged crystal, I'm some kind of walking phantasmagorical conduit. Do you honestly expect us to be _joyful_?"

Hermione, arms folded, rolled her eyes impatiently. She almost wished that Snape would return and put a stop to the bickering. Luna's unexpected competence with the potion had surprised and disgruntled her - it really wasn't _on_ to be shown up by a fifth year, especially 'Loony' Luna Lovegood.

"So what do _you_ suggest, Luna?" she asked, trying to put the Ravenclaw on the spot.

A succession of peculiar wrinkles, pouts and grotesque pursing of the lips morphed Luna's features as she puckered her face in deep thought. Finally, she peered at Draco.

"What brings you _joy_, Malfoy?"

"If that's not a personal question, you mean?" he sniped back.

"Oh, for Merlin's sake, Draco, just answer the question!" Hermione, ever conscious of the passing time, was exasperated with them both.

"OK. Well... I suppose I get a buzz from teasing the shit out of Potter," he replied slowly, savouring a few choice memories of stitching up Harry. "What? What did you expect me to say? That I go into raptures when I see a pretty rainbow or a sunset? That I melt at the sight of cutesy-wutesy baby bunnies...? That the thought of..."

"That'll do. You can shut up now," Luna interrupted, sounding alarmingly businesslike. "Lob us a toad, will you?"

Like Hermione before him, Draco succumbed to Luna's quiet authority, strangely mesmerised. He'd heard rumours that she dabbled in weird, occult, alternative magic but he had never paid them much attention until now. She certainly seemed unnaturally at ease with the unconventional potion recipe.

Shuddering, he reached into the bucket and extricated a toad from the pulsating slime of legs and warty excrescence.

"Actually, give it to Hermione."

"Ugh! I don't want it!" Hermione jumped back a yard.

"You got an O in Transfiguration, didn't you - according to your _Certificate_?" Luna laid particular stress on the last word, and Hermione, reading between the lines, realised that her secret ego-trip was precariously at stake. Luna was a cool customer. Hermione shrugged her compliance.

"Right-oh," said Luna. "Transfigure it into a cute, fluffy kitten. And be quick about it."

"Wand. Wand... I need my wand..." murmured Hermione helplessly, sensing she had lost control of the situation, feeling in her cloak pocket, even though she knew there was nothing there.

"Here! Snape's left them for us on the desk," Draco was galvanised into action. He halted for a moment by the desk, contemplating Luna's black, drawstring purse and, snatching it up suddenly, tipped the crystals out. They scattered across the desk in a random constellation.

"Can't you use this instead?" he asked, holding the purse up by its tail. "It's more or less a cat anyway."

Hermione made even more rapid calculations. Her head was exploding today as her brain tried to redefine 'surreal' and process these experiences using her usual, impeccable logic.

"Heck - I'm not sure, but I think the feline-ness is probably outweighed by the fact that the toad is animate. Wouldn't you think, Draco?" She appealed to him for reassurance.

"Fuck only knows! Don't ask me." No help there.

"Oh well, here goes..." She performed the spell, chanting the incantation, "_Felifacio_" in a quavering voice, cross with herself for betraying her nerves. This was slightly more advanced than basic OWL level, but she should be able to take it in her stride.

"Ooooh... Oh, isn't he _adorable_!" Hermione picked up the mewing, tabby bundle and buried her nose in his soft fur. "Oh, you are so boo-ti-ful," she crooned, "my Crookshanks will be so jealous of you, Mr Puss-kins..."

She was so delighted with the kitten that she hardly noticed as Luna cupped a handful of yellowy-orange nothingness from somewhere near her solar plexus, and squeezed it into a tiny bundle of _joy_. Draco looked on, miming disgust.

"Pass me the cat a second," said Luna. She took charge of the wriggling ball of silvery grey fluff and, emotionlessly and deliberately, snapped its tail in half.

"NO!!!" screamed Hermione, tears of shock and anguish starting to her eyes. "How could you? You... you..." Words failed her.

"It's a toad. Get over it. They don't even have tails," said Luna dispassionately, scooping a tear from Hermione's cheek. "Excellent, now we've got the _sadness_ too. That's the lot."

Draco was gawking at her, revulsion replacing his customary sneer of patronising contempt.

"You are one sick bitch!"

"_Finite Incantatem_!" shrieked Hermione hysterically at the wailing kitten.

The toad, restored to a life of slime, blinked at them, puffed up his empty ink-sac in futile defiance and shrilled a self-defensive squeak. Then, in three hops, it crossed the room and disappeared under the cupboard, leaving a trail of unpleasant, watery goo on the classroom floor.

"Bloody thing crapped on my shoe," muttered Draco, all sympathy gone.

X X X

"**What **is all this** mess**? **What** has been going on?" Snape was back. He targeted the students like a guilt-seeking missile.

"Why is Lovegood scrabbling about on the floor? Get up, girl! Have you completed the Punch?"

Instinctively, Hermione and Draco stepped closer together, shielding Luna from Snape's view.

"We had a slight problem with the toads, Sir - nothing to worry about," smarmed Draco, all Slythertin sincerity. "They escaped, but we've caught them all again now. The ink flask's on your desk, Sir. Lovegood was just checking that there wasn't another toad under the table."

"Yes, that's right, Sir." Luna stood up hurriedly, brushing down her robes. She gave Draco a triumphant wink. Snape thought she appeared somewhat flustered, and she was blinking oddly, but then this child was so Bohemian he never knew quite what to make of her. Her expression could change from one of eccentric anarchy to demure submission in an instant – she would be a prime candidate for _Legilimens_, not that he really cared to know what was going on inside the head of this uninspiring oddball.

Now, she was shyly offering him a glass tumbler.

"We've finished the _Party Punch_, Sir. We thought you'd want to taste it, Sir, to make sure we got it right. We even salted the rim of the tumbler, like it says in the recipe. Is it nice, Sir?"

Snape downed the punch, conscious of six eager eyes upon him, awaiting his approval.

"Fine. Yes, quite adequate. Clear up the mess - all the mess - and then you can go."

Taking the cauldron, he left them to their cleaning, unaware of the powdered hyena bone already chuckling in his stomach.

X X X

As the three approached the Great Hall the customary babble of voices greeted them, and the charred, smoky smell of the pumpkin lanterns wafted to their noses. Was Hermione imagining things, or was the noise level slightly lower than usual, interspersed with rumbles of laughter that rolled round the hall like distant thunder in the mountains? Was everybody too intent on eating to talk, or were they perhaps _listening_...?

They pushed open the heavy oak door. A flurry of Pipistrelle bats which had been hanging upside down from the dark velvet drapes, suddenly took flight and swooped aloft in a flapping cloud of skinny wings. The long wooden bench tables, so lately laden with a feast of goodies, were all but emptied, a few unappetising leftovers all that remained on the golden platters. All eyes were on High Table where a single voice rose above the others:

_"A wizard goes on holiday and buys a postcard to send home to his mother. But before he attaches it to the owl, he puts a curse on the card. Why does he do that? - Because Hex marks the spot!"_

Groans of laughter.

"And there's more where that came from, folks!

_"Sam and Frodo go into the Prancing Pony and order a Butterbeer. When they sit down Sam says, "Put your glass on a coaster."_

"_Why?" asks Frodo._

"_Because you might leave a ring!"_

Hermione glanced at the others, appalled. Draco was beaming with positively maniacal glee, while Luna merely looked as though she was struggling to get the joke. Professor Snape was on his feet at High Table, taking centre stage, flushed and animated, entertaining his astounded audience with an impromptu one-man cabaret.

"The old ones are the best!

_"A troll walks into a café and says to the waitress,_

"_I'd like something soft and sticky, please."_

"_Yes, Sir, - how about Fairy cakes?" says the waitress._

"_No," says the troll, "I'd rather have Erumpent Buns!"_

The school could not believe its eyes, its ears or any of its senses. They didn't know whether this was some extraordinary diversion staged for their benefit by Dumbledore and the staff - it sure beat dancing skeletons into a pointy hat - or whether the Potions Master had finally flipped, or if it were an extremely life-like impersonation. Would anyone have had the audacity to jinx Professor Snape? Or was he just seriously wasted, pissed out of his punctilious mind, bevvied into oblivion? Who cared? This was priceless! It was Merlin-sent! Snape on a plate, making a complete an utter arse-hole of himself!

They cheered, they clapped, they howled and whooped, they whistled, they rolled about clutching their stomachs, tears of derision and mocking delight coursing down their cheeks.

_"I'm not saying my mother-in-law is fat but..." _Snape launched into another graphic shaggy-dog story.

"Oh God, this is awful." Hermione was shocked, ashamed, embarrassed for Snape. She nudged Draco hard, jolting him out of his ecstatic schadenfreude. "Draco, we must _do_ something!"

"Now that's what I call magic! This is even better than I'd expected. Definitely a Treat!" the Slytherin gave the potion his wholehearted approval. "What? Oh, don't be such a wet-blanket, Granger. A spot of public humiliation's just what Snape needs. Taste of his own medicine for a change."

They pushed towards the front of the room, but instead of peeling off onto their own separate House tables they stuck together, inextricably linked by guilt, a sense of joint responsibility, conflicting reactions: pride and terror, success and regret, amusement and shame.

To her horror, Hermione saw that Lupin was picking his way towards them, down from the dais and past the throng of amazed, incapable students, almost crippled with hilarity.

_"Why did the Hippogriff cross the road? - "_ Snape had them in fits.

But they were laughing _at_ him, not _with_ him.

"I know you said the punch would be 'concentrated'..." Lupin spoke quietly into Hermione's ear, "but this isn't quite what I was expecting. Had he been tasting it beforehand, or what? There's something funny going on."

"You've got to get him out of here, Remus," Hermione pleaded. "We'll take him back to the Potions lab and sober him up." _Find an antidote, more like_.

_"My Crup has no nose!_

_Your Crup has no nose?_

_How does he smell?_

_Terrible!!!"_

This is getting worse and worse, she thought.

"Luna! Grab a jug of coffee! Draco! Come on, we're going back to the dungeons."

How exactly Lupin dragged Snape away from High Table and his avid audience, Hermione would never know - she guessed that maybe the werewolf was stronger than he looked. Perhaps he'd used a _Calming Charm_. But he met them in the corridor, a firm grip on the protesting Potions master's arm. Snape was still mumbling jokes incoherently:

_"How many wizards does it take to change a light-bulb? - What's a light bulb? Ha, ha!" _

Even as he said the punch-line, Hermione could see a flash of blind panic in Snape's eyes, of alarm and sheer mortification. _He's knows he's doing this, she realised, and he can't stop himself. He's hating every minute of it_. He was desperately trying to stop the comedy-store chestnuts blurting from his mouth, but he was helpless, swept along in a clichéd stream of gags, quips and wise-cracks. It was torture.

"Look, Hermione," Lupin sounded worried, "I can't stay with you. It's almost midnight, and Dumbledore wants me in the Hall, just in case... You know, 'Dark' things can happen... Sorry and all that, but..."

"It's OK, Remus. We'll look after Snape. You go."

In some ways it would be easier without Lupin. At least they wouldn't have to explain why they were brewing up an antidote, whatever it might be. Snape was making a valiant attempt to pull himself together. He had his hand clamped over his mouth as though that would stop the flow of badinage.

_"Knock, knock! Who's there?"_ he murmured with a weak giggle, then forcibly silenced himself, aghast at his behaviour. "I apologise, Miss Granger," he gasped. "I am not myself."

With Draco holding Snape's other arm, they propelled him down the corridors to the dungeons.

_"Too-wit-too..._

_"Too-wit-too Who?_

_"I didn't know you spoke owlish!"_

"This can't be happening," Snape muttered in dismay. "I can't help it. I'm not well."

"Don't feel too clever myself," grumbled Draco. He did look rather green.

"I'm fine!" piped Luna.

The first stroke of midnight was just sounding as they entered the dungeon. There was an unearthly chill about the classroom; it was damp and uninviting; even the candles flickered coolly and their pale flames were gaunt and thin, straining to penetrate the darkness. Snape slumped into the chair at his desk and sat trembling, head in hands, distraught.

"Luna, give him some coffee."

"Can you do it? You know how I said I was fine? Well, I don't think I am..." She sank, cross-legged to the floor, her eyes glazed. The girl's voice had taken on an ethereal, otherworldly quality; now she was talking very slowly, the sound deepening, elongating, distorting... "I'm getting a message... They want to come in... We have to let them in... Draco, let them in..."

The Slytherin was clutching his stomach again, moaning, but this time Hermione could tell that he was in real pain.

"Help me!" he implored her. "I feel dreadful! I can't stand it. I need to lie down!" He lurched forwards, staggering heavily against the desk; the flask of Toad Ink crashed to the flagstones and shattered, a viscous pool of indelible, amphibious aggression seeping outwards. Draco stumbled and dropped to his knees, convulsed in agony, his body rocking and twisting, pounded from within by countless, unseen, party-going, spectral fists. Then he crumpled with a whimper, and slipped to the ground, unconscious.

Stunned, Hermione could only stare as the ink soaked up into his hair, staining the trade-mark, white-blond locks a greasy, shiny black. She looked to Snape for help, but he was sitting in a daze, nursing his coffee and vacantly moving the cold, scattered chunks of Celestite about the desk in an absent-minded game of astral Solitaire. Some instinct told Hermione that it would be better not to touch the crystals, but she didn't have time to worry about that now. Luna, in her trance, seemed happy enough, but was plainly in a galaxy far, far away...

_Oh, brother! _thought Hermione_. It's all up to me again! I'd better fetch Madam Pomfrey_. She had just heaved Draco over into the 'recovery position', when she heard the final 'dong' of midnight chime...

...A dozen smoky, blue wisps began to curl up out of Draco's inert body... A sinister chill swept through the dungeon, and the air coarsened with the foetid reek of cadaverine. The hazy tendrils spread, drifting, combining, diffusing, dispersing, and ultimately coalescing into recognisable shapes - forms, human forms, still indeterminate around the edges, but with each passing second re-gaining their ghostly, translucent cohesion.

"Tight squeeze this time!"

"Don't know what these portals are coming to!"

"Hot as Hades in there!"

"_You_ should know..."

"Gadzooks! Who invited the _Solids_?"

They floated towards Hermione accusingly in a gaseous pall of gangrenous sulphur. Trying not to gag she felt, for the first time that evening, that she responded sensibly. Marching to the dungeon door, she flung it open - she knew it was _de trop_ in the case of these uninvited guests, but it helped to emphasise her point. Mustering her most authoritative voice, she announced:

"If you've come for the party, you want to go up the steps, through the wall on your left, straight up for two floors, along the corridor and then just follow the noise of chains and wailing, and the smell of rotting flesh. You can't miss it. Thank you."

The ghosts meandered mistily out, wafting decay, all except one, who lingered like a threatening, necrotic thunder-cloud over Draco's body. As far as Hermione could tell - his figure was still somewhat diaphanous - he had been a man of middle-age and of medium stature, tending perhaps towards the stocky. Square-jawed and with deep-set, hooded eyes, his face, even in transparency, had an authoritarian, pugnacious look. His clothes, formal wizard robes, were relatively recent - no Elizabethan ruffles or cod-pieces or clanking suits of Medieval armour - narrowing his period to somewhere in the last hundred years or so. In fact there was nothing particularly exceptional about him, except, possibly, his dark, bristling, 'Kitchener' moustache, bushy but waxed at the tips.

Whoever he might be, he was not at all pleased with Draco. Strutting - if ghosts can be said to strut – over the unconscious form, he accosted him aggressively. He seemed to _know_ him.

"I might have guessed! Flat out on the floor, eh? Still can't hold your liquor? Never could. Get up and be a man! What are you playing at now – dragging me all this way, and then trying to sneak me in through the back passage, eh? This your idea of an insult? I won't stand for any more of your insolence! Always were a snivelling little runt. Disgrace to the family. Shamed us all. Not grown much, have you? Should have been drowned at birth like a whelp. What use were you to our family, eh? Eh? Thought you were too good for us, did you? Too clever by half? You and your so-called intellectual pursuits! Too damned precious to fly a broomstick, weren't you, eh, what? Fly _through_ the clouds, that's what I always said. It'll toughen you up; put hairs on your chest; strengthen your lungs; tune-up your sense of direction. So what do you do, Eh? Get lost in the Cumulo-nimbus! Bah! Pathetic. Call yourself a son of mine?"

Hermione was very confused now. This was certainly not Lucius Malfoy. Why would this obnoxious, pompous, hectoring despot think he was Draco's father? The blustering bully radiated a greenish, pulsating putrescence. He shook a vile fist at Draco and continued his harangue:

"What about your responsibilities, eh, boy? What about the Estate? Your inheritance? Were you even remotely interested? Not a jot! Wouldn't have a bar of it. Couldn't tell a rowen crop from a rowan tree, could you? Too pedestrian for you, was it? Too rustic? Not sufficiently esoteric? Rather study your blasted Dark Arts! I ask you! I should have thrashed that Arty nonsense out of you while I had the chance. What good did Dark Arts ever do our family? Got us all bloody well killed, that's what! You and your precious Potions - poisoned your mother, you did! My beautiful peri turned into a ravening lamia, no thanks to you. What have you got to say to that, eh? Eh? Get up and defend yourself like a proper Snape!"

Hermione did a double-take at Draco. In the thready candle-light, turned to the floor, his long fringe falling across his face in glistening, ink-stained, black strands, Draco might easily be taken for a young Snape.

She glanced sharply towards the Potions master, expecting fireworks, a clash of sadistic Titans. Two generations of Snapes, trading insults, accusations, recriminations, would be a master-class in verbal abuse. But Snape's chair was empty. Silent as a wraith, he had blended into the shadows and crept to the back of the class. Now he was backed up against the far wall, cowering away, pressing himself into the very stonework, reliving the nightmare of his childhood, his adult life annulled. His face was ashen, sickly grey, a death-mask of defenceless terror.

In a flash of empathy, Hermione understood it all. This harsh, intimidating bully was Snape's own father. Harry had once hinted at dark, shameful secrets in Snape's past, but he would never elaborate. Now there was no need: the trauma was laid bare, the scars ripped open, too deep to heal or hide.

"Stop it!" she shouted. "Stop it at once! Leave **Malfoy** alone, whoever you are."

Bending down next to Draco, she pulled him over onto his back and shone her wand into his face. He was clearly not Snape.

"If you've come for the Bloody Baron's Slytherin party, you know where it is. If not, then kindly go back where you came from and leave us alone." Hermione addressed the ghost boldly, too angry to be timid. "Or shall I fetch a poltergeist to haul you into limbo?"

Snape Senior gave an icy, ectoplasmic snort.

"Bah! Solids... Muggles... Women! Damn place has gone to the dragons. What's the world coming to?"

Gruffly and without apology, the spectre withdrew, gliding off and up through the ceiling in an olid blast of tyrannical intolerance.

Once she was sure that the ghost had gone and was not coming back, Hermione rushed over to Snape. He was shaking uncontrollably and, as the girl approached, his legs buckled beneath him and he slid slowly down the wall to the floor. Wordlessly she crouched beside him and put an arm around his trembling shoulders. He was too shocked to push her away. Hermione had absolutely no idea what she could possibly say that would not make things a hundred times worse.

It was Snape himself who broke the silence.

"Seven. I was only seven," he whispered brokenly, "on the broomstick, in the clouds... Only seven..."

"Shh, Sir."

Meeting his eyes, she read despair and naked fear - fear of exposure, loss of dignity, of ridicule, of pity. Hermione wanted to comfort him, but she knew what she had to do. Pretending not to have heard, she stood up.

"I don't know who that was, Sir," she declared. "Some confused ancestor of Malfoy's, by the look of it. Draco's unconscious, Sir, and Luna's in some sort of a trance, so I'm going to fetch Madam Pomfrey. You'll be alright, won't you, Sir?"

Snape nodded in collusion, at the mercy of her discretion, needing help and having no choice but to trust her.

Hermione paused for a moment at the dungeon door, looking back at the three stricken figures.

_Happy Hallowe'en_, she thought.

**END OF STORY.**

**P.S. There is more about Snape's family in _Snape's Confession _and _Repercussions_****. Also in _Repercussions_, Luna is a proper medium and holds an entire séance (which doesn't go entirely according to plan...)**

35


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